My considerable acting skills have been called upon yet again. Not my usual professional assignment, rubbing shoulders and sharing Ribena with Bafta-nominated lovelies at gay drinks parties. No, this time I’ve been romping around the woods on a hostile environment training exercise for some hapless aid workers who wouldn’t know Sir David Morrissey if he was floating down the Limpopo in an upturned dustbin lid. I was playing a worn-out under secretary called Debra, who, due to civil unrest in the fictitious town of Derkha Derkha, was trying to get out of the country and back to her lesbian lover in Wolverhampton. The only problem was, she’d had her bag containing passport, phone and money stolen and consequently, was in a bit of a lather. My opening scene was in a tent (aka Derkha Derkha Airport) where I was hassling the local militia (three IT students from Brighton Uni), to get an exit visa. They waggled their ak47s at me and insulted my mother so I turned my attention to the incoming British aid workers: a dusky woman with a smirk, and her side-kick, a fresh-faced public schoolboy type who had eye-contact issues. They were more bothered by the fact that the immigration officer (a landscape gardener from Hove who’d once been in a Curly Wurly advert) had confiscated their tic tacs and had no interest in helping me get the hell out. In the second scenario, I’d entered the British aid camp, looking for my friend, Bridget, who’d gone missing and was insulin dependent. For this scenario, I’d ramped up the hysteria which led me to suspect that I was actually being unfaithful to my lesbian lover in Wolverhampton and my extra-curricular squash matches with Bridget had led to ex-pat intimacy. I kept coming in and out of the camp shouting for Bridget and stomping into tents demanding that something be done. Nothing was done, but I did get a cup of tea and free access to a box of Rose’s chocolates (which amazingly, hadn’t been confiscated by the Curly Wurly man). Eventually, to shut me up, they gave me a replacement passport and put me on the next flight to Cyprus. I think Bridget probably got shot.